And Then There Were None
by TaxiCabtoNowhereland
Summary: Taking place just before Reichenbach, What would happen if a zombie apocalypse broke out before the fall could take place? Even with the biggest brains in the quickly decreasing population, can Sherlock protect his friends from violence, cannibals, and a whole lot of undead ready to attack? Rated M for Language and violence
1. Ask not for whom the bell tolls

**Author Notes:** Where the hell are all the zombie AU's?! Either way, I hope you enjoy the roller coaster of emotions.

**Extra Note:** I call the undead "sick". The words "zombies, undead, walkers, and dead" are little played to death. This series also takes place before Reichenbach so there is no Mary or anything in Season 3

**Warning:** *Shouts from the rooftops* THIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORY! I can not stress this enough. Angst up to your ears, Character death as far as the eye can see, Swearing, cannibalism, attempted rape, violence, undead monsters, Sadness, some happiness (But who are we kidding really?), Rated M for violence, character death, and swearing.

**Characters Involved:** Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft Holmes, John Watson, Mrs. Hudson,Greg Lestrade, Sally Donovan, Phillip Anderson, Molly Hooper, Anthea, DI Dimmock, and some minor/major OCs to act as allies and enemies

**Disclaimer:** This awesome cast of characters does not belong to me in any way shape or form. They go to their respected creators. Yadda yadda yadda Sherlock isn't mine yadda yadda yadda. Cover Art done by Jackiemakescomics on Deviantart. Check her out! These quotes/Lyrics do not belong to me either. I don't own anything.

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><p>Prologue: Ask not for whom the bell tolls<p>

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><p>Molly was the last one inside. She tumbled into the room crashing directly into Donovan. Sherlock ran past them toward the still open doorway. "Close them." he said.<p>

Lestrade was there first, tossing himself against the thick doors and slamming them shut with a heavy rattle. John leveraged himself against them just as the sick masses on the other side attacked. He readjusted his feet quickly trying to stop the creaking doors from giving way. His body shook with every strike against the other side. The sick acted as one unstoppable wall of death against the door.

Lestrade grunted as his feet slide over the slick carpet. "I can't hold it." He pushed harder. But what were two men against the assault of twenty?

Donovan's eyes darted around. She ran for a nearby desk. It was thick and solid probably enough to hold them. If not, then enough to buy them all time. And they were seriously running out of time.

Sherlock was two steps ahead of her, already grabbing another desk form the other side of the room. Molly dragged the other side of Donovan's desk and the two pushed it against the door. The four of them pushed for dear life as they waited for Anderson and Sherlock to bring the other desk along. The desk slide into place next to the other and the six held on tight. The desk held together against the pummeling. Everyone took a step back waiting for any sign of a breach. Groans and moans continued from the other side as strong fists beat against the doors. After several minutes of silent agony, the infected stopped, believing their meal was gone.

John let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He sink to the ground in the middle of the room. "Fuck." he said holding himself as he tried to regain his composure.

The adrenaline still pumped through everyone's veins but as the seconds turned to minutes, the situation finally dawned on them.

Sherlock looked around at the smashed and beaten computers. In all the adrenaline, he hadn't noticed where they'd been running. He cursed himself for letting it pass by without his observation. They were in an open plan office. The discarded coffee pot and overturned desks told him that much. They tried to ignore the scent wafting through the air from the floors and windows. The familiar scent of London had been consumed by the stifling smell of decay. Sherlock began to look around. Passing over the bodies (unmoving much to his relief), he found a clipboard with the debris. "Johnson Brother's Attorney." he read aloud. He looked around at the others.

Molly shook in her blood spattered lab coat. Anderson held the shaking woman. Lestrade looked into the next office searching for something, anything out of the normal.

John looked out the window. "How could this happen?" he said to the streets below. Sherlock looked out after him. Below them, the sick and infected masses moved mindlessly. Sherlock had just been asking himself that fateful question and for once, he had no idea.


	2. It tolls for thee

**Summary: **John has startling news and the world may never be the same again. No warnings.

**Author Notes: **Chapter One! Yeah! Long journey ahead of us! I thought i might as well post the first chapter along with the prologue. There should be a new one every other week, if not every week. Hope you enjoy the story.

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><p>Chapter 1: It tolls for thee<p>

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><p><em><strong>Days Earlier<strong>_

John all but burst into the flat dancing around as he tried to juggle the groceries and his coat. "Sherlock?" He looked over. The consulting detective was in his armchair and apparently on his laptop. John sighed. It didn't matter how many times he changed the password, Sherlock always seemed to get it eventually. John set the groceries on the counter. "Have you seen the news?"

"No." Sherlock said tapping away on the keyboard. The bread fell off the counter as john set everything down. Sherlock quickly scanned him wondering why he was in such a rush. He sighed, it had been so peaceful in the silent flat. But, despite the noise, he was happy to have his blogger home.

"Why not?" John yelled from the kitchen.

"It's mediocre trivia used to brainwash the masses into believing they actually have a grasp on what is going on in the world."

Sherlock jumped slightly as John fell into the room two large book bags in his hands. He slid into the television gracelessly and flipped it on. Sherlock shook out his black curls. "Honestly John, the news-"

"Shush! look at this" John pointed at the screen where a woman in a gaudy red suit stood on the street. The name Sandra Rivers came and went over the screen as she adjusted her microphone and waited for her cue. John turned up the volume as she began to speak.

"I'm reporting live from Brighton, one of the only places left unaffected."

"Unaffected?" Sherlock said.

John shushed him again the woman continued. "All over, a strange new epidemic has spread throughout England. This contagion began several days ago in Liverpool with mild symptoms and spread like wildfire through the city in less than an hour. This new disease has left many of the residence of Liverpool in, what baffled scientist are calling 'a state of hyper aggression.' Recent reports indict that the disease has spread through Leeds and Bristol as well and shows no sign of stopping."

Sherlock leaned forward, his attention piqued. "When exactly did this begin?" he asked, paying close attention to the woman's words.

John didn't look up from the television. "Two days ago-"

"And you tell me now?"

"It was just a few cases yesterday. It's starting to get bad, isn't it?" John said.

Sherlock turned from the television to the window looking out. "What are the symptoms?" Sherlock asked looking outside.

"Paling or clammy skin, bloodshot eyes, extremely high and low body temperature fluctuations, I saw a report that some of the first victims had massive headaches too." John continued to shoot off symptoms as Sherlock stood. He stepped over the furniture in his way and looked out the window.

"John."

John looked up at the sound of his name. "What's wrong?" He asked.

Sherlock stepped over the coffee table to the kitchen reaching into their drawers. He took one of the two bags John had brought into the room. "Start packing. Grab only the essentials."

John watched the woman on television. "It hasn't reached London yet." He said. "I got these from the store a few minutes ago just in case things got too bad. It looks okay outside, a bit quiet but okay. We should be fine for now." John said listening to the woman continue to ramble about a vaccine.

Sherlock tossed John his bag and continued to fill his. He placed his bag by the door and pulled on his shoes. "Go."

John blinked getting to his feet. He walked down the hallway grabbing handfuls of his clothes. He stopped by the window. He'd never seen Sherlock's feathers so ruffled. What could be out there now? He looked out listening. At first he didn't understand, but, like a ton of bricks, it hit him. He dashed back over to the dresser and putting out his clothes stuffing them into his bag.

There was no one outside.

They lived in one of the busiest streets in London and not a soul was outside.

John fumbled with his shoelaces as Sherlock pulled his bag over his shoulder. "Hurry up." he said pulling open the door. John's cell phone chimed and he flipped it over. Sherlock looked over his shoulder. "Who is it?"

John didn't answer him. He snapped open the phone. "Greg?" He called into the phone.

Greg's voice came out in panicked puffs. "John! Thank God! Someone answered!" several screamed followed and shots rang out as John listened, stunned. A scramble later, Greg was back. "John, get out of town! These things are everywhere!" Another scream followed by another shot.

John clenched the phone. "What's happening? We saw on the news-"

"THEY'RE FUCKING EVERYWHERE!" John recognized the voice as Anderson.

"Sally! Grab that rifle behind you!" Greg yelled and several more screams followed. "Get to Buckingham, we'll meet you there" Greg shouted over the chaos and the line went dead.

John stared at the phone in shock. Sherlock tugged him down the hall. Racing down the stairs, they passed Mrs. Hudson's door. John pounded on the door. "Mrs. Hudson!" The door below them opened and Mrs. Hudson stepped in swaying slightly.

"Boys?" she said. Sherlock caught her as she stumbled.

"What's going on? Are you hurt?" Sherlock asked. "How is it outside?"

Mrs. Hudson looked back toward the door meekly. "It's terrible. They've all gone mad outside. One of them down the street even bit me!" She held up a bruised hand, an angry swelling bite mark standing out against her pale skin.

Sherlock glared at the mark turning to John. "Get her things. We're leaving. We'll get Lestrade and get out of the city."

Mrs. Hudson handed John the keys and he rushed into her apartment. Sherlock investigated the mark on her hand. It was a hard bite, straight through the skin, blood had pooled in the bit itself and the skin around it was flushed but it didn't look like it would be a problem other than the pain. "Sherlock?" he looked up into her worried face. "Is your brother alright dear?"

He hadn't even thought of that. Was his mother alright too? How was his father? "I'll phone them soon"

"You'll do it now."

"Mrs. Hudson, we have to get out of the city and John-"

"You can talk and walk, young man." She said holding herself up. "Call now. I'll help get my things." He watched her climb the stairs to her flat and Sherlock, with a sigh, pulled out his phone.

He dialed Mycroft's number. No answer.

He dialed again. Still no answer.

Panic coursed through his chest and he dialed again.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft's voice filtered in and out over the phone. Sherlock actually sighed in relief.

"Mycroft, are you-"

"GET OUT OF THE CITY NOW!" Mycroft shouted into the phone. Sherlock actually jumped. He could count on one hand the amount of times Mycroft had raised his voice to anyone, let alone him.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine" a revolver rang out in the background. "I was in Australia when this started. Where are you now?"

"Baker Street. We're leaving after we get Mrs. Hudson's things." Another three shot and a scream answered him from Mycroft's side.

"Call me when you've gotten out of London. I have to go. Anthea! DON'T TOUCH HIM!" The line cut off and Sherlock dropped his phone. John raced out into the hallway with Mrs. Hudson right behind him and shook Sherlock back to reality. He stiffened a bit before grabbing his phone and his bag. "We need to get out of the city as quickly as possible." He said and they walked into the London streets.


	3. All around the mulberry bush

**Summary: **Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson struggle to survive in a new confusing world. Sherlock comes across some very important information about the disease spreading throughout the world. Mrs. Hudson isn't feeling very well. No warnings.

**Author Note:** I've decided to put out a new chapter every Friday! I hope you enjoy this one.

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><p>Chapter 2: All around the Mulberry Bush<p>

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><p>The smell was the first thing to hit them. A smell like aged copper pennies clung violently to the air and they gagged on their way out. Mrs. Hudson covered her nose with her collar. "It didn't smell like that a moment ago." She said looking around.<p>

The streets were silently. For one of the busiest streets in London, there wasn't anyone outside. Sherlock hugged the wall looking over the side slowly. There was no one around the corner of the building. There was however a lot of cars in the street. Overturned cares blocked the road and shattered glasses sprinkled over every surface. Sherlock and the others had to be mindful not to make any noise by stepping on it.

A new wave of smell hit them as they crossed the street. Sherlock's nose scrunched. "John." He said barely above a whisper.

"I know." John answered back. He must have recognized it as well.

They traveled south down Baker Street weaving their way cautiously through cars and debris. A thick, heavy moaning trickled in from further up. People hung around the intersection. Bodies and what were probably bodies (if the piles of open festering meat said anything) covered the ground. The copper smell only intensified as they moved closer: the smell of blood.

Sherlock spotted several people in the intersection, hurt and bleeding out. They stumbled mindlessly through the streets dull eyed and hands outstretched.

"Sherlock?" John said. He eyed the hurt civilians. One woman with bloodied hair was clenching her chest and stumbling toward them. Sherlock ignored him analyzing the crowd. There were several men and a few woman out in the open but who knew how many were out of view. He looks around grabbing a large rock from the chipping sidewalk and tossed it with as much strength as he could muster. The rock flew into a bakery window nearby and more glass shattered to accompany the rest on the roads.

"Sherlock, what are you-" Sherlock covered john's mouth before he could finish the sentence. The bloody woman turned slowly to the sound. Her jaw slacked and her legs moved independently toward the sound in a stumbling walk. Everyone people in the intersection were walking toward the sound now. Their arms falling limp to their sides as they looked for something John couldn't see. More stumbled into view dragging broken bodies to the sound. Mrs. Hudson glanced away from the more gruesome ones dragging or rolling themselves forward. The civilians gathered by the window stumbling over one another as they looked for the source of the sound.

Sherlock grabbed Mrs. Hudson's hand. "Inside, now." He whispered leading them into a building. John was right behind him. He closed the door quietly and stopped. Looking out the shattered windows, he tried to wrap his head around the people wandering around outside. They should have been at the hospital, right? They must be mental. He slide a desk into place blocking the base of the door just in case. It didn't do so much good with the shattered windows but, any bit of security helped against the crazy people outside.

John turned around. Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson were already at the far end of the hallway. He ran after them passing bloodied sheets. A moment of pause and he could make out the lines and figure of a person underneath. He ran faster. John met the two on the stairs as they ventured higher up into the building. He climbed to the third floor as quietly as possible before looking around. Pushing several things in front of the doors, he stopped to breath. A thought kept gnawing at the back of his head. "Sherlock, we need to get to Greg before-"

"John, shut up."

John glared at the detective as he barricade the door. "Didn't you see what was out there? We-"

Sherlock glared back at him. "John, I said shut-" He began. The doors behind them flew open and a man rushed at them tackling Sherlock to the ground. The two fell in a mass of flailing limbs. "Shoot him!" Sherlock yelled. He blocked the man's massive jaw from taking a bite out of his neck.

Two shots rang out as John took the man out without a second thought. The man's body lurched as his head blew like a watermelon. The rest of him collapsed on top of Sherlock. Sherlock quickly rolled the man over and scooted a safe distance away.

Mrs. Hudson gripped the blunt chair leg she'd found lying around. "Nice shot."

"Mrs. Hudson please." Sherlock said pulling a pair of gloves from his bag and began examining what was left of the man. He looked the wounds looking for any abnormalities. He straightened up as he looked over the man's blood coagulation.

John stared over his shoulder. "Sherlock?"

"This can't be right." Sherlock checked again. He checked the man's dirty skin. "How is this possible?" he said more to himself than anyone else. He triple checked the results. "This man has been dead for over a week."

Silence followed in the space. Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "But that's not possible, he was-"

"Alive?" Sherlock said. He turned the man over look at his back. "Apparently not. He's been dead for more than a week."

John came to sit beside him. "Then how was he moving?" His doctorial interest had been peaked. He inspected the damage to the man's body. Lifting his leg, he looked over the torn open meat of his calf. "He shouldn't have been able to move either." He said, inspecting the muscles closely. "The hamstring in his left leg is completely severed and the tendons in his right are hanging by thread." Sherlock watched on as John looked for answers. John continued. "The pain should have been too excruciating. He shouldn't have been able to walk let alone run at us."

Sherlock snapped off his glove. "And yet he did."

John looked over the body again and again. "This isn't possible." Sherlock looked out the window at the masses of bodies stumbling around the building. He frowned a bit. He looked over the man's rotting flesh. "He couldn't have been dead."

"How else would he have had enough time to decay to such a state?"

"He couldn't have been dead. It's impossible for him to get up and attack someone."

"Once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, John." Sherlock said. "This man should have been dead. His very existence a moment ago is impossible. But he was moving. So, what does that tell us?" John stared at him shaking his head. Sherlock turned back to the window. "The dead can't walk. _That_ is impossible. But what about the living?"

"So the living dead is plausible?!" John said.

Sherlock snorted. "The living dead? No. You've been watching too many movies John. But a disease that could fabricate electrical impulse though the brain could make them walk even after being deceased. It could explain the dulled pain receptors too."

Mrs. Hudson nudged the body with her foot. "But he's been dead for a week right?"

Sherlock shook out his hair. "Yes, that would be impossible unless his brain was kept from decaying." He looked the body over again. "So, whatever is happening, it can also effect those who were already dead like our friend here." He looked into the window again. "The people below however appear to be relatively alive or at least were before this happened. Their bodies haven't decomposed as drastically." Sherlock sighed. "We could exclude him as an abnormality. But even then, a virus that you into nothing more than a walking hungry piece of meat?" he scratched his chin lost in his own world. "It's possible, regardless of how improbable it is." He looked over to John. John didn't seem convinced. "Fine." Sherlock cutting his eyes at him. "You're a doctor." He motioned to the body. "Explain."

John remained silent. In all his years of medicine, he'd never seen anything like this.

"Just as I thought." Sherlock looked around the room. He grabbed a chair crackling it in half against the wall. "We've got a new virus tearing through Europe and possible other continents. We're in the middle of one of the most densely populated areas in England with no way out and no weapons other than a gun. " He grabbed two of the long leg chairs. "We'll need to defend ourselves." He paced back to the window, his mind super charge. "The sick have-" he railed out the window looking around. "Poor motor control, no pain receptors, undisturbed strength, poor sight but impeccable hearing."

John looked over. "How do you know about the hearing?"

"The rock, they were attracted to the noise." Sherlock picked up his bag and tossed John his. "That and the fact that I just spoke out the window. Several looked up and are heading this way now. With them and the ones who already followed us inside, they'll be strong enough to overthrow that poor barricade we've created." He slung his bag over his shoulder. "So I suggest we leave now."

John tighter the straps on his bag. "Yeah, now would be a good time." The moans outside the door increase.

They headed upward, Mrs. Hudson right on their heels. They took it slowly, finding ways around the sick with rocks and other loud noises. Mrs. Hudson tossed a rock into a cabinet with a thick whack. The three sick blocking their path moved slowly out of the way. She followed after Sherlock and John on their way out. Running, her vision blurred. She turned a corner and fall over. "Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock was at her side in a matter of seconds.

Mrs. Hudson coughed. "I'm fine, dearie. We should keep going."

He nodded looking her over for a minute before they reached the fire escape and made it to the next building. Mrs. Hudson stumbled over coughing hoarsely as she jumped to the other side. They hopped from building to building trying to make their way to Buckingham Palace in the distance.


	4. The monkey chased the weasel

**Summary:** Sherlock is anxious, John is worried, Mrs. Hudson is still sick and time keeps marching on.

**Author's Note:** this is a bit of a slower chapter, there will be a few of those every now and then. But don't worry, we have some action and angst coming up! Thank you for reading so far and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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><p>Chapter 3: The Monkey Chased the Weasel<p>

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><p>Sherlock stared hatefully at the setting sun. They'd been lucky enough to get to higher ground before the sky blackened. From the ear piercing screams below, some hadn't been so fortunate. He looked at Buckingham just over the buildings. He calculated their distance from Buckingham. They'd be there in a day's time if they moved faster.<p>

Mrs. Hudson coughed, hard. Sherlock passed a weary glance at her.

He turned back to the window. Looking below, he wondered he should do. There were too many variables. What if Buckingham was under siege? What if Lestrade was already dead? What if he didn't meet them there? What if he brought Anderson?

Sherlock's face scrunched at the thought. He sighed. Regardless, a familiar face was better than a rotting one with bits of flesh stuck between its teeth.

Mrs. Hudson coughed again, this one harder and more forced. John patted her back gently. He pulled two cans of beans from his bag. He's grabbed everything from the kitchen before they'd left 221b. He opened a can handing it to Mrs. Hudson.

She smiled at him weakly and patted his hand. Eating from her can, she held out one to Sherlock. "Sherlock, why don't you eat something?"

Sherlock shook his head. He slid down the wall by the window and closed his eyes. "I'm not hungry."

Mrs. Hudson frown putting the food in front of him. "Eat something." she said.

Sherlock sighed taking the can. The beans were cold and overpowering in his dry mouth. He swallowed a few and set the can aside again. Mrs. Hudson mumbled something about him being 'thin as a rail; before pushing the can back at him. He pushed it away and she pushed it toward him again.

John smiled at the familiar sight. It was nice to see some things remain the same even when everything else around them changed so drastically. His mind wandered off to the others. "I'm worried about Greg." he mumbled to himself.

"Who, oh right. He's fine." Sherlock said. He set down next to Mrs. Hudson with a little more force. She sighed, turning away.

John pulled out his phone. Oddly enough, it still worked. But no one knew how long it would work for. Maybe if he called, Lestrade would-

"Don't." Sherlock said. "The sick are attracted to noise. If his cellphone goes off while he's near one." Sherlock let the sentence hand over them like a giant raincloud. Mrs. Hudson picked the can of beans up and put it in Sherlock's hands. He sighed. He looked up to find John still staring at his phone. "He's smarter than the average person, John. He can take care of himself."

"Anderson is with him."

Sherlock looked over so quickly John was surprised he didn't get whiplash. Sherlock looked back down at his beans. "We're all doomed."

John chuckled despite his fear. Mrs. Hudson giggled as well. The short sweet sound ending with another cough. She coughed harder and John scooted closer pressing his hand into her forehead. "You feel warm."

Mrs. Hudson smiled at him, pushing his hand away. "I'm fine, dearie." she said hoarsely.

John offered her some water. IN the moonlight, he could see how her face had brightened dramatically with deep red hues tainting her pale cheeks and forehead. She appeared to be sweating as well. "Let me check you over." John said. Mrs. Hudson nodded. There really was no point in arguing with John when he was in 'Doctor Mode'. He checked her face first. "Do you feel itchy? Is anything aching?"

"My hip aches a bit and I have a headache coming on." she said softly.

"You might have a fever." John trailed off pressing his hand into her forehead again.

Mrs. Hudson groaned a bit. "Perfect timing." she mumbled.

John adjusted her head giving her his bag for a pillow. He looked over to Sherlock. He was looking out the window again. "If you keep looking out the window like that, you'll go mental."

"Actually," he looked back at John and then at the shadow masses down below. "I believe this is the only thing keeping me sane."

John said nothing just staring at the detective by the window. Sherlock could feel it. "You should get some sleep." he said when the staring became too much.

John nodded. "Wake me up in an hour or two." he said and curled in on himself.

Sherlock listened for his breathing as John drifted off quickly. He looked over to his companions. They actually looked peaceful.

He looked back down into the shadowy world below. He listened to the never ending moans of the sick stumbling around. He wished he could sleep as well but with the idea that at any moment, the doors could break down. Sick could pour in with yellowed teeth and broken nails. They could tear and snap and break through them in seconds. He shook away his thought. With a soft sigh, he rested his head against the windowsill and waited for dawn.


	5. From my rotting body, flowers shall grow

Summary: Nothing but running, heart break peaks over the horizon.

Author's Note: Warning for blood (small amounts though). Here's the next chapter! Hope you enjoy!

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><p>Chapter 4: From my rotting body, flowers shall grow<p>

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><p>Sherlock woke to the sound of screaming. He jumped up. "What happened?"<p>

John didn't look up from the Mrs. Hudson. "Her fever spiked. She won't stop screaming." Mrs. Hudson's eyes bunched hard. She flailed violently in John's arms. John looked positively terrified as Sherlock took her from him.

The wooden barricade over the front doors began to creak. The sounds of walking outside caught their attention. Sherlock stiffened. "Mrs. Hudson." she wouldn't stop screaming. He pulled back before his own ears could be damaged. "MRS. HUDSON!"

The screaming cut almost painfully like the sound had been pulled from her throat. Mrs. Hudson laid completely still. John scooted closer ready to check for a pulse.

Her body when rigid as she opened a tired eye. "Sherlock?" her voice was weak and fragile not the usually wind chime sound they both knew.

The boards creaked again. "We have to go." John said tossing them their bags. Sherlock took Mrs. Hudson's for her, helping her stand on wobbly legs.

A massive bang, almost like a dead body being chucked against the door, shook the entire room. The door hinges screamed under the pressure of the sick on the other end. Mrs. Hudson ran for a desk pushing it against the doorways with some help. The door creaked open despite their efforts.

Sherlock pushed harder. He turned to john. "Get her to the fire escape."

John had the window tossed open before he'd finished the sentence. He looked around before Mrs. Hudson stepped out.

Sherlock watched them go. He waited until John was outside before turning back to the door. The wood of the door began to splinter and Sherlock looked down the hallway. There had to be at least twenty of them, all of them pushing against the door and each other. Mutilated jaws snapped at him through the splintered openings and dead eyes burned into his core.

"Sherlock?" john whisper-yelled.

Sherlock cursed under his breathed, bolted for the door, and vaulted outside in the space of ten seconds. He slammed the window shut just as the sick managed to get inside. He wouldn't have been happy to say it was nice to breathe fresh air again but it wasn't. The air wasn't fresh anymore.

In direct sunlight, they tried to ignore the decomposing bodies around them. Bodies dotted the streets, their disfigured corpses twisted into nightmarish forms. Blood sprayed like a Pollock painting and the pavements pooled with liquids and unnamed meats. They stopped at the corner and Sherlock looked over. "Their motor skills seem impaired but their grip is powerful." he said more to himself as he watched three sick in the road. They were...having lunch. He turned to the others. "Don't let them get a hold of you." he said.

John nodded. Mrs. Hudson's eyes drifted in and out but she nodded slowly. Sherlock stared at her longer.

John checked his clip. "Sherlock, I don't like being out in the open like this." he reminded. Out here, they might as well ring the dinner bell. Or breakfast, whichever.

Sherlock looked up. He searched the nearby buildings for movements. "We can't go into any of these buildings. If there's one, there's probably more."

John nodded. "Then all we can do is go through." he said.

Sherlock sighed. This was a bad idea. This was the worst idea he'd ever had. "Are you ready?"

John snapped his clip back in. "Locked and loaded."

Sherlock chuckled. "And you call me dramatic." They sprinted down the infected streets. Granted, their footsteps were heavy but their charge helped them move faster than the masses. Sherlock estimated their time to Buckingham. "We need to move faster." he said.

John wasn't listening to him. He was staring at the mangled corpses in the streets. Sick sat on the pavement pulling handfuls of meat out of the open cadavers. Snaps and squishes surrounded them as the sick took in mouthfuls, scarlet blood dripping from their fingers and teeth. He gagged.

"Don't look."

John didn't need to be told twice.

They turned the next corner and a wall of sick came into view. The sick turned slowly blank eyes suddenly alert and hands outstretched to grab them. Sherlock railed back pulling the others with him. He grabbed a plank from a nearby building ripping it straight from the wall. "Stop thinking John." Sherlock said. He whacked a sick directly in the head when it came to close. "Just run."

John followed his lead tucking his gun into his waist and grabbing a steel pipe. He brought it down on the closest sick's body. It shuffled back arms swinging at its sides before coming back at him, teeth bared in festering gums. He attacked again. The pipe connect to the sick's head with a sickening crack. Blood splashed and the sick fell. "The head." He stumbled back as a sick reached for his jacket. "Go for the head." The continued to run, killing anything that so much as came into view.

Mrs. Hudson held her own. She swung at a sick grimacing at its head split. Her vision blurred as she moved. Her legs laced with lead and she stumbled. A weird shape stumbled closer to her and she whacked it with all her might. Blood splattered and she continued to beat it. She looked over what was left in its skin. Wounds festered and skin ripped over the slowly decaying body. She peered closer dragging the body out of the crossfire and examined it. Moving its clothes aside, she noticed a bright red patch on its collarbone.

A bite mark.

Her blood ran cold as she looked over her own hand. Her bite mark had gotten worse, the skin around it blackening and breaking. She couldn't feel the pain but the evidence was there. Another sick came over to her and she batted its head off. She looked for another mark. It was on the sick's left calf. She ran to the boys. "Sherlock?" she tried to get his attention.

He beat off a sick turning to her. "Busy!" he yelled smashing another's brains in. Mrs. Hudson shook away her headache and whacked a sick who came to closely.

John looked over as Mrs. Hudson stumbled. "Mrs. Hudson?" He only had a second to think about her before more sick were on him.

The world began spinning around Mrs. Hudson. She hit a wall suddenly underestimating its distance and sank slowly before toppling over.

Sherlock looked over. "Mrs. Hudson?" He batted away a nearby sick and ran to her. He looked her over, checking her temperature before seeing the new state of her wound. She looked at him as her eyes rolled back into her skill. He picked her up quickly and sped off John on his heels. He watched Mrs. Hudson sway in his arms. "You're going to be fine. Don't worry."

Mrs. Hudson tried to speak as her consciousness tuned in and out. Sherlock's assuring words were the last thing she heard before the world spiraled into darkness.


	6. And I am in them and that is eternity

**Summary:** It was only a matter of time. Character death. Angst.

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry for the delay. And i'm sorry for what's about to happen. I didn't want it either but it was bound to happen eventually. i hope you enjoy the chapter anyway. I'm going to cry in the corner now.

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><p>Chapter 5: And I am in them and that is eternity<p>

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><p>Sherlock tried his best to slam the gate shut. He handed Mrs. Hudson to John and peered out into the streets. None of the sick seemed to see them coming back here. An onslaught of flesh craving psychopaths was the last thing they needed right now. He turned back to the others.<p>

John was kneeling next to Mrs. Hudson, looking her over. He pressed his hand into her neck, cheek and face. "She's burning up." he said. He reached into his bag pulling the zipper open to look for his medical supplies. John didn't like this. Mrs. Hudson's breathing was too labored for his comfort zone. Her chest heaved and fell frantically as she struggled to breath.

Her eyes finally opened as John managed to find what he was looking for. "Sherlock?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

John took her hand. He'd thought the wound looked bad when it was red and bleeding. Now, the once red skin was a dying grayish black. The teeth marks stood prominently against the fester skin. Thick pale yellow pus leaked from the abrasion. She jumped when he touched it.

"Sorry." John said.

Mrs. Hudson tried a smile. "It's alright dearie." She closed her eyes as her head lulled to the side. "My head hurts." the words came out jumbled and distorted. John pulled the first needle he could find. "What are you doing?" Mrs. Hudson said.

"I'm giving you antibiotics." he said.

Mrs. Hudson held her hand up to stop him. She gently put the antibiotics down. "I'm sorry. I can't let you do that."

Sherlock grabbed her hand holding it close to his chest. "Why not? You won't get better without them." he said. Mrs. Hudson shook her head. Sherlock glared. "You have to get better." his head snapped over to John. "Give them to her." he said. Mrs. Hudson batted away the medicine. Sherlock took a deep breath. "Why must you be so difficult? You're only getting sicker. We can't just sit here and let you become one of those things."

She smiled at him. "I'm sorry Sherlock." her words were final.

"Mrs. Hudson, you don't have to do this." John said. "We could-"

"I'm old." Mrs. Hudson said. She looked toward the gate they'd escaped through. "I've lived a good long life."

"And you'll live a longer life if you let John help you" Sherlock insisted. He reached for the medicine and she stopped him again.

"One of you boys may need that later. Let's not waste it on little old me." She smiled again giving the bag to john and turning to Sherlock.

Sherlock shook his head. "Mrs. Hudson, I can't just let you die." Sherlock held his ground but his voice betrayed him.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head sitting back again. She reached for him. "Don't cry." she said. She wiped a tear Sherlock didn't know had fallen. "No more tears."

She held her hand before she could pull it away. They'd been through so much. "I can't let you do this."

Mrs. Hudson smiled a bit more. "I know," She turned to John. "That's why you're going to with him."

John shook his head. "We can't just-"

Mrs. Hudson took the needle and bottle. "-yes you can." She said. She pulled her bag over and put her food and supplies inside. She zipped the bag shut. "Now take him as far away from here as you can." She told John.

"No." Sherlock said firmly. He'd deny he was shaking if anyone dared to point it out.

Mrs. Hudson wasn't looking at him. She was talking to John. "Take him and run. Find Lestrade and get out of the city. Go to the country." John took the bag and she patted his cheek. "Please be safe."

Sherlock refused to move. He couldn't have if he wanted to. His legs were frozen. "I'm not going anywhere." he protested like a stubborn child.

"Sherlock please, for once, listen to someone else." Mrs. Hudson said.

John watched form the sidelines for a moment. It was a stalemate. Sherlock wouldn't move and Mrs. Hudson was too weak to make him. But he was strong enough. "Sherlock." he said swallowing the thickness in his voice. "We have to go."

Sherlock glared at him. "You may be willing to leave her but I'm not going anywhere. I told her we'd get out of the city and I meant it."

"And you will." she gripped his leg. "Just not with me."

"I can't-" he began.

" .John." she said firmly. She turned to John. "Keep him safe, please. I need you both to be safe." He nodded and pulled Sherlock put by his coat. Sherlock fought the entire way.

His stubbornness died slowly. Sherlock looked to John. "We can't just leave her." He said. Was he the only sane one left in the room?

John went rigid. "And we won't." he said. "Go wait outside."

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed. "What are you-" it clicked in his mind. "No, no, no, no, no, you can't-" Sherlock fought for the right words. "It's Mrs. Hudson." he said.

John pulled his gun. "I know. That's why we have to." he looked at Mrs. Hudson. "DO you want me to do this?"

Mrs. Hudson nodded. "I don't want to hurt anyone. Just make it quick."

Sherlock stared between the two of them and darted from the room. From the hall, Sherlock sat against the wall holding himself. He could do nothing but wait. And then he heard it. A piece of his heart died with her.


	7. Ring around the Rosie

**Summary: **Friends are found. Misery pecks over the horizon.

**Author's Note:** I am so sorry, don't hurt me for a several week late update. As for this chapter, I recently found out crayons could be used at candles after an experience that went horribly, horribly wrong and Dimmock always struck me as a "had a telescope when he was ten' kind of guy. Prepare for heartache in the next chapters. Hope you enjoy this one.

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><p>Chapter 6: Ring around the Rosie<p>

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><p>The silence was excruciating. Sherlock could hear his heart beat. The rapid fire beats drummed against his rib cage painfully as he waited for a sound, any sound. The door creaking open shattered the silence. John stepped out, his face aged a thousand years. Sherlock grimaced as his eye noticed a bit of blood here and there that hadn't been there before. He gagged swallowing the bile that crawled up his throat.<p>

John reached over to him brushing a tear from his cheek. Sherlock stared at the wetness on his hand. He rubbed at his face angrily as he grumbled. Standing curtly, he walked down the hall on numb feet. They walked in silence.

John tossed open the door ready to strike at whatever came into view. Sherlock looked around. They were in an old house. It had been ransacked hours ago if the overturned furniture said anything. They found the kitchen and bathroom quickly and searched for supplies.

Sherlock tossed him a roll of gauze he'd found in the bathroom. "We have to find Lestrade." John nodded. Those were the first words either of them had said in over an hour. John took Sherlock's steel pipe and drove a long pair of scissors he'd found in a bedroom through them. The pipe was thick but he'd managed in a few minutes with the help of some furniture leverage and screws. He looked over the new weapon. It would have to do until they found something more durable.

Sherlock looked around as John worked. The silence was beginning to kill him. He opened his mouth to speak. A scream ran out. "GREG! THERE'S TWO MORE."

John shot up. "Was that Sally?"

Sherlock was already halfway down the stairs. He opened the door and kicked a sick clear over the porch banister. Sherlock waved his arms as Donovan turned his way. Her eyes widened and she grabbed Anderson's arm. They ran toward him around a far corner. As they moved, the sick followed them. Sherlock noticed Dimmock behind him and Lestrade in the rear batting off a sick that got a bit too close for comfort. Sherlock slammed the door after they'd made it inside.

John scrambled for the blinds. He didn't know if the sick could see but it was better safe than sorry. They scrambled down as the dull moans and silhouettes came back. Only after the shadows passed did John realize he was holding his breath. He let it out slowly and looked around.

They all caught up with the situation at once. Lestrade looked over to his left. "Sherlock?" Sherlock blinked as the man pulled him into a hug. He hugged him back stiffly. Lestrade smiled. "I thought you both were dead." he said as he hugged john.

Sherlock looked around. He remembered every face that made it through the Yard or at least the important ones he didn't delete. "You're the only ones who made it?" He knew it was an obvious question with an obvious answer but a small part of him hoped that others had made it.

Dimmock's smile wavered. "There were more of us." was all he said. Silence followed. Lestrade lifted a small flap of the window. "We need to get out of here." he said more to himself than anyone in particular. He talked over his shoulder. "Where's Mrs. Hudson?" he looked out the window. John visibly winced. Sherlock stiffened. In their silence came his answer.

Sherlock looked around. "We need to gather as much supplies as possible." he said. Everyone nodded and scrambled around the house. Sherlock looked through the drawers of a gaudy pink room. He tried to ignore the pink and white teddy bears smothered in red liquids on the bed. He opened a container inside the drawer and found what he was looking for. Tossing it into the bag, he met the others downstairs.

John had found more medical supplies under the cabinets in the bathroom. He'd managed to find some hydrogen peroxide and a bottle of aspirin with the usual band aids. Donovan had found a baseball bat in a boy's room. She didn't recommend going in there, Sherlock understood why. Everyone had found something whether it was bits of food or weapons. Sherlock pulled his container out of his bag. He held out a pack of crayons.

Anderson looked them over. "Crayons? Really? What are you going to do with them? Draw us a mural?"

"No," Sherlock said. "They're for you to use while the grownups talk."

Dimmock stepped in between them. "Alright you two. Now isn't the time."

Donovan looked out the window. The sick were beginning to gather. "We'll need to find higher ground before the sun goes down."

Anderson looked over her shoulder. "And go where?"

Donovan closed the curtain closed again. "Anywhere." she snapped.

John raised his hands. "Alright everyone," They all took a deep breath. John looked into the next room before ushering everyone toward the stairs. "We need to be quiet." he said. "Noise attracts them."

He opened the staircase door and they all filed out one at a time looking into separate rooms. "Clear." John whispered down the hall from the first room. Everyone whispered back. They gathered in the closest room by the fire escape and barricaded themselves in.

Sherlock grabbed the crayons from his bag and lit a single one with a match. Setting them down in the center of the room, the fire collected and he grabbed two more. The wax gathered and the crayons propped themselves up as candles in the center of the floor. Anderson avoided eye contact as they gathered around the crayons (now candles).

No one said a single word as they watched the crayons burn themselves out. Everyone took their positions around the room nodding off against doorways and filing cabinets. John turned on his side toward the flames but sleep wouldn't come. Sherlock yawned by the fire.

John chuckled. "You should get some sleep."

Sherlock nodded. He laid on his side facing John and drifted off. John watched him sleep. It wasn't a peaceful one, his brows were knit and his lips were flattened in a stiff line. He looked around the room. Everyone had fallen asleep in one way or another. Dimmock was the only one awake.

The Inspector caught him staring. A soft smile played on his face. "You look like hell."

John chuckled. "So do you."

Dimmock shrugged. He turned back to the window. John looked into the fire. "You know, if you keep looking at them, it's going to drive you crazy."

Dimmock snorted. "I'm not looking at them." he said. "I've just never seen London so dark." He looked up at the sky. "I never realized how bright the stars were at night. All the city lights and musty air pushed them away."

John looked up and sure enough a cosmic ocean of lights stared down at him.

Dimmock smiled. "Makes you feel small, right?" John nodded. Dimmock looked at him again. "You really do look like shit." He said. "Get some sleep. I'll take the first watch."

John nodded. "Wake me up in an hour." He said. Dimmock stared at the sky without a word. By the time John's head hit the pillow, he was already asleep.


	8. Pocket full of Posies

Summary: Character death. Shit hitting the fan VERY quickly.

Author's Note: Sorry (I'm not sorry).

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><p>Chapter 7: Pocket full of Posies<p>

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><p>"Hurry Up." Sherlock said as he vaulted over the next building. He ran over the roof top hopping to the next. John grunted as he hopped over after him. Everyone was quickly jumped behind him.<p>

John shielded his eyes with his hand as he looked at the sun. They'd been traveling for a day and a half now and they'd barely made any progress getting out of London. He never noticed just how far things were until he wasn't able to hail a taxi.

John looked down into the deep drop to the street. The sick pooled out of every alleyway and stood around every corner. He stared at their staggering forms. The sick never slept and they were always present. Always in the next alleyway ready to grab them. Always moaning down the hallways. Always hungry.

A hand clap on his back shocked John out of his thoughts. He shied away from the roof edge. "Don't." Dimmock said. "They'll drive you crazy, remember."

John looked away. The two hopped to the next roof where everyone was gathered around the edge. Sherlock was staring over it as they waited. He sighed. The jump to the next building was too far even for his long legs. If they fell, they could die or worse live long enough to get eaten.

Sherlock grabbed the ledge lowering himself onto the fire escape as quietly as he could. One by one they all followed him to the bottom and then they were on the ground again. John looked down the alleyway to their left, there was nothing there.

Putting a finger over his lips, Sherlock looked around the side of the building. He motioned them to follow and they moved into the open. Hiding behind trash cans, they snuck like thieves around the sick passing nearby.

Donovan held back a gasp as a sick came too close and brushed against her trash cans. She let out a shaky breath. Donovan looked over the edge after the sick passed out of view. She checked her clip before slamming it back in. "We're pretty naked out here." she mumbled. She was ready to shoot anything that stumbled by if need be.

Sherlock looked around. He opened his mouth to speak. A bloodcurdling scream pierced through the streets. They, and every sick nearby, turned to a couple of woman rushing down the road. Everyone ducked as the sick began to move as one toward the woman. Sherlock looked over the trashcans. He cocked his head, staring hard at the struggling woman. "Molly?" he said. His eyes widened and he leaped over the cans.

Lestrade was behind him with John in tow. Sherlock went against his gut and yelled. "Molly!"

Molly turned. Tired eyes widened when she saw them. Molly tugged the woman along with her. The woman was older, possibly in her mid-forties and screaming bloody murder.

Sherlock reached them first. "Make her stop."

Molly shook the screaming woman. "Mum, you need to stop screaming." But it was no use, she kept screaming as sick poured out of every orifice. Mangled bodies dragged themselves from destroyed cars grunting and snapping their jaws. They crawled out of windows unaware of the glass cutting through their bellies and dragging their intestines behind them. Sherlock pulled Molly over and the screaming woman struggled. She pulled away dragging Molly with her.

Molly grabbed her mother. "Mum! It's Sherlock!"

Her mother stopped. "Sherlock? I-" She screamed as a sick grabbed her from behind by her neck. It bit harshly into her throat and blood poured in steady streams as she continued screaming. She stopped screaming as one sick became two and then three and then they were all on her grabbing for meat. Molly screamed as the blood soaked her lab coat.

Anderson shot a sick near his feet. "We need to go." he yelled over the moaning. They were in the middle of a feeding frenzy. Dimmock grabbed Molly and pulled her toward the rest of them and they ran.

Bullets cut through sick bodies and crumbled in their path. Lestrade dry fired into the crowd. "Fuck, I'm out."

Sally ducked as a sick reached for her. "I'm out too."

John shot another sick fumbling their way. Dimmock caught his eye. "Dimmock, behind you!"

Dimmock turned as the sick grabbed him. Holding him in a vice grip, it gnawed into his arm. Molly jumped back and grabbed his gun. She shot straight through the sick's head. Dimmock pushed the body away. He looked at the bleeding hole in his arm before looking at John.

Snatching his gun from Molly, he pushed her toward John and took off into the crowd. Grabbing a brick, he broke windows and whacked poles. Grabbing a trash can lid, he ran it against the walls as he ran. The sounds echoed and the sick turned his way. He shot everything in his path as he tore up the street.

Lestrade ran over to them. "What is he doing?" he shouted over the moaning.

John grabbed Molly's hand. "Causing a distraction." he pulled them both forward. "Run." They ran to the others and bolted for the nearest deserted building.

John only chanced a look back. Dimmock stood on top of a car. The sick reached and bit for his legs but he wasn't paying attention. He was staring at the sky. Making eyes at the horizon, he raised his gun. John looked away. He pretended he didn't hear the shot when it came.

John pushed the barricade against the door with what little strength he had left. Everyone stood at the ends of the room. Donovan bandaged up Anderson's forehead as he winced at the smallest touch. She continued to apologize as she worked. Lestrade held Molly against his chest. Molly didn't say a word. She didn't move. Lestrade held her anyway.

A single moan floated from the hallway and Molly lost her composure. Burying her face into Lestrade's uniform, she began to cry. Everyone sat in silence listening to her cry.

Sherlock sighed. "Molly." he said.

She didn't answer him. He tried again. "Molly." She shook her head. Sherlock's mouth flattened into a thin line. "Miss Hooper." he snapped.

Everyone's head snapped up as he took a deep breath. "There are sick around. Your crying will attract them. Let's not lose anyone else today."

Anderson saw red. "Listen here you freak-"

"-No you listen." Sherlock snapped again. He stood inches from Anderson. "Unless you want the sick breaking through that barricade. We all need to be quiet until it settles."

John stopped him. "Sherlock, that's a bit harsh."

"A bit?" Donovan said pulling Molly from Lestrade and against her chest. "She's allowed to grieve for a minute."

Sherlock glared mutely before taking a deep breath. His shoulders slumped and he gently took Molly from Donovan. He rested his hands on her shoulders. "Molly," He pulled her closer, gently rubbing her back. "I'm sorry for your loss. No one should have to experience that. But if you don't learn how to keep moving forward, this world is going to kill you." He said firmly.

She stared up at him. "What am I supposed to do? I'm sad. I'm angry. Am I supposed to just forget my mum? Dimmock? Everyone? I saw so many people die."

Sherlock sighed pulling her away. Looking around, he ripped an exposed pipe from the wall. "No don't forget them," he pushed it into her hand "just let your anger out on them."

Molly held the pipe in hand. It was a black pipe and cold to the touch. Her fingers clenched around it.

Sherlock smiled slightly brushing a stray tear from her face. "No more tears." She nodded slowly turning toward the side door. Lestrade and the other looks around the next room and John stopped Sherlock.

He didn't say a word and Sherlock sighed. "She needs to learn now. Crying gets you nowhere. Sentiment is a crutch. She'll die if she holds onto something too hard." Sherlock closed the door softly behind him. "It's the things we love most that kill us."

John stared at his friend as he followed him down the hall. He didn't like where this was going. But in a world where it's kill or be killed, he didn't have much of a choice. John shook the thought from his head catching up to the others. They'd have a long way to go before they made it out of the city.


	9. Ashes, Ashes

**Summary:** Reevaluation and scavenging.

**Author's Note:** This weather man is reporting a shit storm and it's coming your way! No umbrella can save you.

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><p>Chapter 8: Ashes, Ashes<p>

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><p>Donovan woke at dawn the next day. Sweeping dark matting curls behind her ear, she yawned. The feel of the hard floor brought everything back. She wasn't in her bedroom. She snatched up her gun and checked her clip. Empty. She sighed snapping the clip into place. The floorboard nearby whined and she jumped.<p>

"Easy." Sherlock said. He cracked his back. The floors were killer.

Donovan relaxed and they sat in silence. The birds outside chirped happily, almost mocking them. Donovan looked outside. The sun was warm and waking over the horizon. She yawned again. "How long were we asleep?"

Sherlock scratched his scalp. "A day and a half." He looked around the room. Molly and Lestrade were in the corner asleep. Anderson was spread over the floor like a starfish, his mouth wide. Sherlock rubbed his eye. "You woke up thinking it was another day." he said staring at her.

Donovan rolled her eyes. "Let me guess," she said. "My hair told you? Or was it the way I wrinkled my nose."

Sherlock's face held no emotion. He looked down. "John woke up an hour ago and did the same thing."

Donovan looked away, feeling guilty. She looked out the window. The sick lined the street and spilled into the alleyways. "We need to get out of here soon."

Sherlock nodded. He grabbed his bag and Donovan followed his lead. They woke the others. Neither said a word until everyone was awake and aware that it wasn't all a dream.

o.O.O.o

Molly pushed around her food with her fork. It had been more than a week since the outbreak had settles in London. It had been nearly two days since Molly had seen her mother's throat torn out by the monster below on the streets. It had been nearly two days since they'd lost Dimmock. Their faces popped into her head and nausea came in waves.

Lestrade looked over. He sighed and turned to Sherlock. "SO what's the plan?" he asked.

Sherlock looked out the window toward the sick below them. "Before we can go over the plan we need to know what were up against. So everyone needs to tell me everything they knew about the things outside." Sherlock sat back waiting for them to respond. John pulled out his notepad out of habit.

Lestrade thought to himself. "They like to eat people." he offered.

Sherlock sighed. "Thank you for your contribution. Anything else?"

John looked up. "They're dead." he said writing it down. "They're dead people walking around." Sherlock nodded.

Molly looked up. "There blood is black."

Sherlock looked up. He sat up properly. "How do you know that?"

Molly thought back. "When the outbreak start, all the bodies were brought to the morgue. I cut one open for the usual examination." she shivered. "Every internal organs was corroded and diseased with black blood and pus. I took it upon myself to open his head and found that the brain had deteriorated at an alarming rate."

"Would you say the brain was the first thing to go?" Sherlock asked.

Molly thought to herself. "Yes, the frontal lobe most likely."

"That would explain why the headaches were the first symptoms to be reported." Sherlock mumbled to him. His fingers came together under his chin and he laid on his back.

Molly continued. She thought back to her notes. "The disease then spread downward affecting everything in its path. The arteries clogged, the muscle's weakened. But normal science can't be applied to them."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

Molly rubbed the back of her neck. "I checked three different bodies and found they all had the same symptoms but the severity differed from person to person. The first two had been reported to have died of natural causes and the last of a heart attack."

"In your examination, did you see any bite marks?" John said.

Molly nodded. "On the first two. The first case, a woman, had been bitten severely on her arm and leg. The second, a man, was only bitten on his hand. The third case was strange though."

Lestrade leaned forward, listening closely. "How?"

"He was the one that reanimated. He grabbed me from behind while I was checking the woman and tried to bite my neck." She rubbed her neck. "But he hadn't been bitten."

Everyone blinked. "What?" Sherlock said.

"He'd died of a heart attack." Molly said. She played with her fingers. "His muscle deterioration shouldn't have allowed him to get up from the table let alone grab me."

John swallowed. "But he got up anyway." He thought back to the sick who'd attacked Sherlock.

Molly nodded. "He nearly broke my arm when I got away."

John wrote down another note. "So extreme bursts of strength."

Sherlock nodded.

Molly gripped her lab coat. "I fought back and hit him in the head with my surgical scissors. The skull by then had been deteriorating to the softness of a marshmallow and he collapsed. I did the same with the other two before leaving and going to find my mother." Her head hung low. "And then you all found us and…" her words trailed off hanging like an angry storm cloud over their heads.

Sherlock took John's notebook looking over the notes. "The only new information we have is the man with the heart attack. He wasn't bitten." Sherlock laid back again. "SO why did he reanimate?"

Molly pulled her knees against their chest. "How did this happen?" she mumbled to herself. "I saw the military shoot a man in the chest over a dozen times and he just kept coming."

Sherlock looked around at the confused and frightened faces. "Does anyone have anything else?"

Anderson looked outside. "People who are shot in the head before they turn don't come back."

They all were quiet for a second. Sherlock spoke first. "Then the infection but travel from person to person through contact through fluid contact."

John nodded. "That would make sense." he scribbled down a note. "Dimmock was scratched and-" John caught himself as the others stiffened.

Sherlock swallowed. "You're right." he said. "Dimmock was scratched. We all have to be careful."

Everyone nodded. Donovan opened her clip. "How many bullets are left? I don't have any."

John looked in his clip. "I have three."

Anderson looked in his. "Two."

Lestrade didn't open his clip. "I'm out."

Donavan sighed. "We need more ammunition. Scavenging might help."

John looks in his med pack. "We could use some medicine too." they had enough to save one or two people but if they got seriously hurt, they'd be in trouble.

Sherlock tightened his shoes. "Their hearing is incredible so noise attracts them. Don't shoot unless you have to." Sherlock looked out the window. "We should travel north. Toward the country." He tightened the straps of his bag. "We can scavenge on the way."

Lestrade was the first one out the room. "We need to find a weapons too. Does anyone know where we could find any?"

"I don't think were far from a gun shop. I pass it in taxis all the time." Anderson said.

"Could you get us there?" Sherlock said. Anderson nodded.

Everyone picked up their bags. They headed out and John caught up with Sherlock. "Do you think we'll find weapons there?" John asked. It was a stretch. Maybe if they'd gotten to the store in the first few days but now? Would there be anything left?

Sherlock shook his head. "No, but ransackers nearby probably didn't get very far." He hopped out of the window and scurried down the fire escape.

They scurried down the next block keeping to the shadows as they made their way to the shop. The sick populated the streets but they moved silently so none looked their way.

Anderson led the way turning down paths. Sherlock was behind him looking for opening to escape just in case. Anderson pointed down a ways and they headed to the shop. The store had been ransacked. The windows were smashed out and scorch marks form an extinguished first eat at the sides and inside of the building. Sherlock looked around the charred bodies of the fallen people. He kicked one to make sure they were dead. The body didn't move. Sherlock made quick work of rifling through its bags.

He pulled one of the guns from the body's bag. Opening the clip, he found it full. The others pillaged the rest of the shop as quietly as they could.

They stood in the center of the shop together looking over what they'd found. "This should keep us going for a while." he said. "Unless we get attacked by a massive pack, we should be okay." Everyone nodded.

Lestrade took to the backdoor. He looked at the car in the back. A woman's body sat in the back. She wasn't moving but Lestrade didn't take any chances. He ran back inside and took the sharpest object he could find. Donovan watched him as he went back into the back and rammed it through her soft skull. She sagged onto the steering wheel. Lestrade pulled the body out and looked into the back. He froze. Three dead children sat in the back. Bite marks covered their bodies and bullet wounds pierced their foreheads. Lestrade gagged. He grabbed what supplies he could find and left quickly.

"I found food and water." he said. Sherlock nodded. He found a pair of scissors. Making a mental note, he reminded himself to add them to Molly's pipe later. He tucked them into his pocket.

A shot rang out in the back and their heads snapped up. John ran inside pushing his body against a door. "They snuck up on me." he said. Moans from the nearby streets caught their attention. Sherlock grabbed a large bar and slid it through the door handle. John pulled away and they ran.

Lestrade collected Anderson and Molly from the next room and they ran. Sick piled out of the shops doors. Sherlock looked around. They were on the street in the open. They needed higher ground quickly. His eyes spotted a tall office building coming nearby. He motioned to the building and they all ran. Sick came from their hiding spots. They grabbed for them. Molly kicked a crawling sick as it grabbed for her leg.

Donovan screamed as a sick's fingers grabbed her hair. She grabbed its hand trying to free its grip. Sherlock ran back to her. He grabbed his scissors and cut her free before batting the sick off. They ran for the building doors. Climbing the stairs two by two to the next floor.

Molly was the last one inside. She tumbled into the room crashing directly into Donovan. Sherlock ran past them toward the still open doorway. "Close them." he said.

Lestrade was there first, tossing himself against the thick doors and slamming them shut with a heavy rattle. John leveraged himself against them just as the sick masses on the other side attacked. He readjusted his feet quickly trying to stop the creaking doors from giving way. His body shook with every strike against the other side. The sick acted as one unstoppable wall of death against the door.

Lestrade grunted as his feet slide over the slick carpet. "I can't hold it." He pushed harder. But what were two men against the assault of twenty?

Donovan's eyes darted around. She ran for a nearby desk. It was thick and solid probably enough to hold them. If not, then enough to buy them all time. And they were seriously running out of time.

Sherlock was two steps ahead of her, already grabbing another desk form the other side of the room. Molly dragged the other side of Donovan's desk and the two pushed it against the door. The four of them pushed for dear life as they waited for Anderson and Sherlock to bring the other desk along. The desk slide into place next to the other and the six held on tight. The desk held together against the pummeling. Everyone took a step back waiting for any sign of a breach. Groans and moans continued from the other side as strong fists beat against the doors. After several minutes of silent agony, the infected stopped, believing their meal was gone.

John let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He sink to the ground in the middle of the room. "Fuck." he said holding himself as he tried to regain his composure.

The adrenaline still pumped through everyone's veins but as the seconds turned to minutes, the situation finally dawned on them. Sherlock looked around at the smashed and beaten computers. In all the adrenaline, he hadn't noticed where they'd been running. He cursed himself for letting it pass by without his observation. They were in an open plan office. The discarded coffee pot and overturned desks told him that much. They tried to ignore the scent wafting through the air from the floors and windows. The familiar scent of London had been consumed by the stifling smell of decay. Sherlock began to look around. Passing over the bodies (unmoving much to his relief), he found a clipboard with the debris. "Johnson Brother's Attorney." he read aloud. He looked around at the others.

Molly shook in her blood spattered lab coat. Anderson held the shaking woman. Lestrade looked into the next office searching for something, anything out of the normal.

John looked out the window. "How could this happen?" he said to the streets below.

Sherlock looked out after him. Below them, the sick and infected masses moved mindlessly. "We'll stay here for the night."

Donovan looked around the room. She tugged at her cut hair. "We'll have to secure the doors and sleep in shifts." She looked at the door before shivering.

Lestrade watched her walk into the next room. "We should make sure we're alone."

Everyone nodded and divided into teams of two. After twenty minutes of searching, they all met back in the lobby room. "There was a few in the offices." Lestrade said. John nodded.

"I killed one in the woman's bathroom." Molly said.

"I didn't find any in the board room." Sherlock said checking the door.

They all relaxed a bit. Closing the doors to the other rooms, everyone sat in the middle of the lobby room's floor.

Donovan was the first to speak. "I wonder what the rest of England is like." she said resting her head against the stone wall. She reached up taking a handful of her hair. A large chuck of her hair was gone after Sherlock had cut it. "Thanks by the way." she said. Sherlock nodded. She sighed. "Can I borrow those scissors?" he handed them to her. She took a deep breath. Pulling the rest of her hair in hand, she cut the remaining length off and stared at the mass of curly hair in hand. Everyone stared at her as she finished cutting her hair to a shorter safer length before passing the scissors to Molly. "You might want to cut your hair shorter too." Molly stared at the scissors before taking them and in one swift motion cut off her long brown hair. She barely flinched. Donovan helped her cut it correctly before handing the scissors back to Sherlock. He nodded looking over the two woman. He tucked the scissors away without a word.

"You both look nice with short hair." Anderson offered and Donovan smiled a bit.

Molly touched the pixie cut Donovan had just cut and sighed. "We'll have to wait it out for a few hours." She said looking over the clock behind Sherlock.

Everyone nodded settling in, waiting for the dead below them to pass.


	10. We All Fall Down

**Summary: **We all fall down

**Author's note: **dun dun dun! I nearly forgot today was an update day. Here you go!

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><p>Chapter 9: We All Fall Down<p>

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><p>Sherlock shielded his eyes as he stared into the midday light. The constant obnoxious sound of the hungry below had lowered to a dull hum. Looking out, he saw a few stragglers still prowling the streets. "We should go." Sherlock said.<p>

Everyone nodded following after him down the empty hall. "Alright, we need to get to higher ground." Sherlock mumbled. Everyone listened closely even if he wasn't talking to them. His dazed stared told them he was too far into his mind palace to be talking to them. Sherlock pushed a fallen chair out of the way. "I've been in this building before for a case. The roof should be close enough to jump to the next building."

They climbed up the stairs. A plethora of blood stains covered the walls. They stopped in their tracks at the staircase. Several desks and chairs covered the stairs case as a barricade.

John opened the door to the floor slowly. He looked into the closest conference room. Nothing moved. He looked on the wall for the floor number. "This is the fourth floor." he looked at the wall map. "We can get to the fifth floor from staircase A or B. They're down the halls."

Sherlock stared at the map. "Staircase A is closest." Moving past John, Sherlock walked out first. The halls were silent. Nothing moved in any of the rooms. Nothing they could see at least. Sherlock grabbed the staircase A's door handle. "We'll check here first." He opened the door.

Hungry eyes turned on him.

Sherlock slammed the door. "Move." He said pushing John back. The sound of combined fists shook the door frame. They bolted down the hallway.

Anderson made it to the door first. He skid to a stop in front of it. Grabbing the handle, the door knob refused to turn. "It's stuck." He grunted, trying to force it open.

The glass to the nearest conference room shattered and a sick pounced on him. With a sickening crack, the sick stopped in its track. It sank to its knees and Molly pulled the pipe free. Anderson stared, mouth agape. "Molly?"

Molly swung at the next sick. "Shut up and swing." she said. Ripping off the sick's head from the scissors with her foot. She braced herself as the next threw its body at her.

Anderson stiffened but did as he was told. They fought with whatever they could find. Wide, broken toothed mouth bite for them. Chipped fingernails clawed at them. They fought back with everything they had. Lestrade pistol whipped a sick aiming for his neck. "There's too many."

Donovan kicked another back. "Fuck this." she said. She batted a sick back trying to grab her shirt. Turning her head away from the glass, she brought her gun down on the glass of the staircase window. She looked inside quickly before reaching inside and opening the door. She waved her arm flagging everyone down and they ran for their lived.

Tearing up the stairs, the sounds of the sick never silenced. They crescendoed. John threw open the door to the fifth floor. Several sicks from the fifth floor turned their heads.

"Shit!" He slammed the door.

They climbed higher running floor to floor until they'd reached the very top. "This is the last floor." Lestrade said. A sick grabbed his foot and he kicked the hand away. The sick fell back knocking into several others in the sea of infected coming up the stairs. Lestrade's eyes widened when he saw just how many of them there was. He bolted through the door and slammed it behind him. Molly panted looking at the blood on her lab coat. She sighed handing Sherlock back his pipe.

He didn't take it. "You handle it better."

Molly looked at the pipe smiling.

John looked down the hall to the map. "The only way out is up." he said.

Everyone stared at each other. Donovan looked into the next room. The door behind them beat savagely. She kicked the leg of a desk and the leg sundered. Grabbing the new weapon, she tucked her useless gun away. She turned back to see everyone staring at her. "Well? Are we just going to sit here staring at each other for eternity?" she pushed past them. Sherlock smirked as Molly followed after her quickly.

John looked back at the door. "How long do you think it'll hold?"

"It won't." Sherlock said.

Molly's voice carried form the stairs to the roof. "You guys need to see this."

The boys followed up. "My god." john said, covering his mouth. The city was engulfed in flames. Distant screams carried from the ground. The masses of sick filled every block killing anything they could find.

"It looks like Hell." Anderson said.

Sherlock stared out it not the burning city. "It's worse than hell."

The sound of breaking glass shattered their thoughts and they turned to the doorway. Everyone stiffened as the dark shadows of the hallway clumsily moved closer.

Sherlock's head shot around. He searched for a way down. Paths came to a standstill in his head. He came up with nothing. There was no way out.

The sick attacked in slow motion, mouths open and ready to eat. Sherlock watched the others fight back. John fought back a sick, kicking it off the roof. Sherlock watched the sick fall all the way down. Its head split open like a melon on impact.

"Sherlock?"

He turned to see his army doctor staring at him. Looking out, he watched the people he knew and care for (some of them) fight, completely outnumbered by the endless stream of sick. Sherlock lowered his gun.

John beat a sick with his gun. "Sherlock?" he jumped back as a sick slashed at him.

Lestrade looked over. "What's he doing?"

Sherlock climbed onto a large steel air duct. Molly deflated first. "Is this the only option?"

Sherlock said nothing at first. "It's one of two." he said. He stared at the sick below him.

Molly was the first to join him and John was the last. They all stood higher up. Sick reached for them. The tips of their fingers barely reached the top of the air duct. Sunken eyes glared at their meal just out of reach.

Sherlock looked over the edge at the ground below. The fall would kill them, regardless of how they landed. He chose that over becoming one of the things attacking them.

John watched the detective. He could see the wheels turning in Sherlock's head. Sherlock looked at John and took a deep breath. Closing his eyes, he found his courage and readied to leap.


End file.
